


only way to really know (is to really let it go)

by seventhstar



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Getting Together, Ice Skating, M/M, Romantic Comedy, Thirsty Katsuki Yuuri, Thirsty Victor Nikiforov, Vicchan Lives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-11
Updated: 2018-03-11
Packaged: 2019-03-29 17:53:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13932213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seventhstar/pseuds/seventhstar
Summary: Yuuri drops out of the Grand Prix Final to see Vicchan one last time. Vicchan lives, but Yuuri's career doesn't. He's skating alone and feeling sorry for himself when the call comes.Christophe and Viktor are planning an ice show in Vegas, and they want him to be in it.One last hurrah can't hurt, right?





	only way to really know (is to really let it go)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [argyros (argentumluna)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/argentumluna/gifts).



> am i a one trick pony of romcom shenanigans? yes. no regrets. i've done my time in character death hell and am free.

**DAY -14**

Yuuri is semi-illegally skating _Stammi Vicino_ again when Chris calls.

It’s semi-illegal only because Yuuri isn’t sure what trespassing laws in Hasetsu actually are. Not that it matters; the Nishigoris have said they don’t mind if Yuuri uses the rink at odd hours. When Yuuri skates during the day, even if he reserves the rink, inevitably someone wants to come in and watch him.

Yuuri has no idea why, but they do, and he hates it, so evening and very early morning skating it is.

Chris doesn’t know Yuuri well enough to pity him, and Yuuri is getting bored, day in and day out in Hasetsu with nothing but understanding and onsen chores and giving ice skating lessons at Ice Castle to sustain him, so when he sees ‘Incoming Call From Ass Man’ flashing onscreen, he picks his phone up off the boards and answers.

“Hello?”

“Yuuri! Sorry to call so late.”

“It’s fine.”

“Excellent. What are your plans for the spring?”

The competitive skating season is over. Yuuri dropped out of the Grand Prix Final and never came back for Nationals; he was able to give his exams remotely after citing a family emergency, but he missed his own graduation ceremony, too. Whether to go back or not...Yuuri’s been thinking about it, between sleep and waking, when he can’t avoid it with physical exertion any longer.

He doesn’t know.

“I...I’m not sure.”

“How would you like to be in an ice show? I have one planned and there’s an opening. You’ll be paid, of course, and your room and board compensated.”

“Are you sure?”

“My partner asked for you specifically. And of course, you’ll add that element of mystery.”

Yuuri can’t imagine why. Maybe they had someone drop out last minute. Maybe the mystery is “why is Katsuki here?”

“I don’t really have anything prepared…”

“You don’t need anything. It’s a themed show, so we’ll be providing you with appropriate choreography. In fact,” Chris pauses, “if you do come, I can promise you’ll get to work with one of the very best choreographers in figure skating right now.”

“...you said I’d get paid?”

Chris names a number.

Yuuri winces. He does need money. Sitting around feeling sorry for himself isn’t exactly paying the bills. Sitting around moping isn’t making him feel better. If he hates doing the show, that’ll be his answer, won’t it? He’ll know his career is over.

“I’ll do it on one condition.”

“What’s that?”

“Can I bring my dog?”

 

**DAY 0**

Vicchan’s never traveled before, and Yuuri is relieved to find he takes it well. No howling on the plane, no whimpering at the airport, no whining when Yuuri feeds him the travel dog food; he sits quietly inside his carrier and looks with great interest at everything. Yuuri sets him on the seat beside him on the final leg of his journey, pulls up his hood, puts in headphones, and fully intends to go to sleep. The surgical mask over his face itches a little, but he doesn’t dare remove it. One of the women in the seat behind him is coughing.

Yuuri has never been to Las Vegas, and most of the people on the plane are ordering cocktails right now. They’re still sitting on the runway. He hopes he falls asleep as soon as possible, before anyone can drunkenly try to speak to him, or, god forbid, recognize him. A skating fan had seen him on the last flight, and it had taken all of Yuuri’s powers of avoidance to get away from her.

The aisle seat remains empty as the flight fills. If there’s no one sitting there, Yuuri can put Vicchan in it and stretch out a little. The idea is a massive relief, after the ten hours from Tokyo to Los Angeles and the five hour layover at LAX, all in economy. Yuuri closes his eyes in bliss at the thought.

There’s a rustle of fabric at that moment.

Yuuri opens his eyes the tiniest amount to see the interloper. He’s not wearing his glasses, so they’re a little fuzzy. They’re tall, and dressed in a dark grey jacket, and their hair is silvery. _An old man,_ Yuuri thinks, and is glad the other passenger is seated in the aisle seat so he can go to the bathroom without disturbing Yuuri or Vicchan. In his experience, old men always have to go to the bathroom during a flight even if the flight is only ninety minutes.

He closes his eyes again.

“Excuse me,” the man asks, in lightly accented English. _Russian,_ Yuuri’s Viktor-obsessed brain supplies. “Excuse me.”

Yuuri groans inwardly. Why do people make conversation on planes? It’s like making conversation on the subway, or on a public bus. It’s bad.

“What?” he asks, playing up his accent as much as possible.

“Can I pet your dog?”

“...yes?”

The man lapses into cooing, liquid Russian. There’s something familiar about his voice—but no, Yuuri thinks, that is ridiculous. There are millions of people who live in Russian. What are the odds that this old man on his flight is...but he doesn’t sound old. In fact, the longer the man baby talks to Vicchan in Russian, the more he sounds like...a certain person.

 _Which is crazy,_ Yuuri reminds himself. _Why would Viktor be on this flight from Los Angeles to Las Vegas?_

 _Yeah,_ Yuuri thinks, _why would the five time World Champion in men’s single figure skating be on his way to a city with an ice show produced by his best friend? That makes...oh, god._

He peeks again.

The man is petting Vicchan’s nose with a fingertip through the metal grate on the front of the carrier. Vicchan doesn’t seem to mind, even though he takes a while to warm up to new people. Maybe he’s seen the man before. Maybe he _recognizes_ him from Yuuri’s teenage hormone-fueled poster wall.

“What’s his name?” Possibly Viktor asks. “He looks just like a tiny Makkachin. Oh, Makkachin is my dog. She’s—”

 _Why is Viktor Nikiforov here,_ Yuuri asks silently. _Why is he on my plane. Why is he sitting next to my dog. I’m an okay person. I don’t deserve this. Shit, he asked me a question. I hope he doesn’t know anything about Japanese suffixes._

“Vicchan,” Yuuri croaks, in a voice that sounds nothing like his voice. It’s as if a bullfrog has crawled down his throat. “His name is Vicchan.”

“Cute. ‘-chan’ is a nickname, right?”

“Uh.”

“You’re a good boy, aren’t you?” Viktor speaks Russian to Vicchan again. “He’s a smart dog, isn’t he? I’d swear he understands me.”

Vicchan woofs. Yuuri dearly regrets practicing his Russian with him when he was young and foolish. How could baby Yuuri have known?

“I can’t believe you’re betraying me like this,” Yuuri grumbles in Japanese.

“Hmm?”

Yuuri hurriedly pretends to be falling asleep. Head wedged uncomfortably against the window, he squeezes his eyes closed and relaxes his sweaty fingers. The plane is droning loudly, and it grates on Yuuri’s nerves. At least this is a short flight. At least Viktor doesn’t recognize him, even if he is a reminder of all the things Yuuri is trying not to think about.

He wonders where Makkachin is.

“Shhh,” Viktor whispers. Yuuri, weak as ever, peeks at him again. He’s turned Vicchan’s carrier to face him. “Your dad is sleeping. Do you want to hear about my dog?”

This is going to be a long, long ninety minutes.

 

* * *

 

McCarran International Airport is everything Yuuri hoped it would be: loud, flashy, crowded. It should be easy to strip off his hoodie, tuck Vicchan under his arm, and flee for baggage claim while the rest of his fellow passengers are milling around, distracted by the slot machines and the overpriced alcohol.

It should be. But to Yuuri’s horror, Viktor exits immediately behind him and follows at his heels. He has a small carry on bag—designer, bright pink—and a matching duffel bag. The jacket he was wearing goes into the duffel, revealing a plain white tshirt; Viktor puts on sunglasses, even though they’re inside, and nods.

“Do you see a poodle anywhere?”

“What?”

“My dog. I sent her over with a pet travel service, she’s supposed to meet me here, but I don’t—”

Yuuri opens his mouth to say that, no, he has not seen Viktor’s dog but he would very much like to see such a perfect specimen of dogginess, but he’s cut off by a wall of curly brown fur that slams directly into his stomach and flops down on top of him. He puts down the carrier with Vicchan in it and lies there on the grimy airport linoleum as Makkachin licks his face excitedly.

He pats her on the head gingerly as Vicchan whines to be let out from his carrier. Yuuri bought him a poster of Makkachin when he was a puppy, because Yuuri was a stupid, stupid child. He probably recognizes her, too. This is a disaster.

Yuuri reaches up to wipe his wet face and to give the dog more petting, and pulls down the surgical mask  where it’s stuck to his skin.

He realizes his mistake too late as Viktor, bent down to dislodge Makkachin, beams. Yuuri’s wearing his glasses now; he has a crisp, clear view of Viktor’s heart-shaped smile and straight, gleaming teeth and the hickey just visible above the scarf draped around his neck.

“Wha,” Yuuri says coherently.

“Yuuri!”

“I found your dog.”

“Yes, she must recognize you from the internet,” Viktor says. “Why didn’t you introduce yourself? I have all your program materials with me.”

“My...program materials,” Yuuri repeats. “Are you...choreographing my…?”

He feels horribly embarrassed even asking the question, because as soon as he’s voiced it he realizes how presumptuous it must sound, but Viktor hauls him firmly to his feet without the smile leaving his face. Yuuri clutches Vicchan to his chest.

“Chris and I had a fight about it. He thought his style would be better suited.” Viktor makes a face. “Can you believe that? I have a lot of respect for Chris, but,” Viktor shakes his head. “No subtlety at all. It’d be a waste.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Viktor retrieves his baggage, and Makkachin’s leash, and starts walking. After a moment of shock it occurs to Yuuri he should be following, and he scrambles to catch up. They cut through the crowd as they head towards baggage claim.

“All you need to know,” Viktor says as they get into the endless line to baggage claim, through a woefully unnecessary level of extra security with TSA officers eying Viktor’s dog and bags as they pass, “is that I rescued you from having to slap your own ass on the ice.”

A part of Yuuri dies upon hearing those words, for a number of reasons: shame, the fact that Viktor has given Yuuri’s ass at least a cursory thought, regret that Chris exists. He sets Vicchan’s carrier down on top of his suitcase with a sigh.

“Thanks?”

“You’re welcome.” There’s that smile again. Yuuri feels his face heat and prays to be chosen for the extra security check for the first time in his life. “I’m glad you could make it. I wanted to call and invite you myself, but Chris thought you might be intimidated.”

“Uh.”

The line, despite its length, moves quickly. In what feels like seconds, they’re at the yellow line, being directed to cheerful officers who check their passports and push them through. As soon as Yuuri is through the line, he has the urge to flee; if he gets his luggage early, he can head to the hotel before Viktor catches up.

But that’s rude. Besides, Yuuri admits to himself, he wants to see the program materials.

_A program from Viktor...for me…_

He shivers as he waits for Viktor and Makkachin to catch up. They stop at a Starbucks where Yuuri orders a green tea frappuccino and then nearly has a heart attack when he sees how expensive it is. Even worse, Viktor takes one look at him and slides his credit card across the counter with a wink.

They share a cookie butter bar while they wait for their luggage to come out onto the carousel.

“What color is your bag?”

“Black.”

“Oh.” Viktor makes a face. “That might be difficult.”

Sure enough, there are too many medium-sized black suitcases, and only one pair of bright pink Louis Vuitton bags with tiny poodle-shaped locks hanging from the zippers. Yuuri wrestles Viktor’s bags off the carousel for him, and then they stand there, peering at the passing luggage for Yuuri’s.

“Is there anything special about it?”

“No, it’s like me.”

“Beautiful?”

Yuuri chokes on the dregs of his frappuccino. “Ordinary.”

“Not like you at all, then.” Viktor blindly selects a bag. “Is this it?”

Yuuri checks the tags. _Yuuri Katsuki,_ they read, in both English and Japanese.

“Yeah.”

“Great. Are you hungry or should we head for the hotel?”

“Oh, that’s...I can go by myself.”

“It’s no problem, there’ll be room in the limo.”

Viktor flags down a porter to take charge of their luggage, and Yuuri decides not to argue with him about it. He wants to take Vicchan to the hotel where he can be let out. Viktor leads him outside the airport, a hand in the small of his back, where there is indeed a sleek black limo with a driver waiting with sign labeled _Nikiforov._

There are a couple people standing around, eying the sign with avid curiosity.

“Excellent, no reporters.”

“Maybe they’re at the hotel.”

Viktor makes a face. “Thanks.”

They pile in, dogs and all, and Yuuri lets Vicchan out of the carrier. His paws scrabble at the leather and Yuuri has to rescue him before he falls off the seat. Yuuri’s never been in a limo, but he approves of this one, since there’s enough room for poor Vicchan to nose around. Makkachin lies at their feet. There’s soft music playing, and there’s a fridge that Viktor opens to reveal drinks and snacks. The seat is a hundred times more comfortable than the hard seat of the plane.

So this is what it’s like to be a five time World Champion.

Inside the limo, the road noise is nonexistent and the windows heavily tinted, so Yuuri has no excuse to ignore Viktor’s conversation. Which is unfortunate, because most of it is terrifying.

“Our theme for the show is ‘love’,” Viktor explains. “Every skater is presenting a different aspect. Friendship, familial love, romantic love, unrequited love, unhealthy love—and of course, sexual love.”

“Uh,” Yuuri says.

“Is that the only word you know?”

“Which love am I…?”

“Eros.”

“...are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure. This was going to be my short program next season, actually, but when Chris told me you’d agreed I decided to rework it for you instead.”

“Thank you—”

“It’s a very difficult program! Chris said that I was being overzealous but you shouldn’t have any problems, right?”

“Actually I—” Yuuri hasn’t performed or competed properly in months, so actually, yes, he can imagine a number of problems.

“And as for your costume, Chris promised he would handle it but he’s been petitioning for assless chaps to be allowed in competition for years, so I brought a few of mine just in case.”

The idea of publicly being seen in assless chaps is so horrifying that Yuuri is rendered entirely speechless. Viktor pulls out a notebook and starts showing him the notes from the planning of the show with great enthusiasm; Yuuri hears absolutely nothing. When the limo pulls to a stop outside the hotel, he feels like he’s being marched to face a firing squad. A hotel porter opens the limo door and dutifully stacks their luggage onto a cart.

“Right this way, sirs,” he says. They’re in a parking garage. “You’ve been checked in by Mr. Giacometti. Can I show you to your rooms?”

“My dog,” Yuuri manages.

“I’ll arrange for your dogs to be shown to our inhouse pet care service immediately.”

“Excellent.” Viktor hands over Makkachin’s leash. He pats Yuuri on the shoulder. “Do you want them to take Vicchan? It’s very nice.”

Viktor’s approval makes Yuuri feel much better about the scheme. He hands Vicchan over, and the bellboy takes his leash gently in his hands as he walks them to the elevator. There’s another hotel employee there, a woman in the same green and gold uniform, who takes charge of their luggage.

“This way,” she says.

The elevator is gilded and mirrored, and Yuuri tries very hard to avoid looking at himself as they whoosh upwards. He’s suddenly aware of his body, which is greasy and smells like an airplane. He grips the hem of his shirt as the elevator beeps to signal their arrival and the doors slide open.

The hallway, too, is decadent, with crown molding and gleaming gold knockers on every door. Yuuri is relieved to be left in front of a door all the way at the end of the hall, far away from all the neighboring doors, where no one will see him and suspect he broke into this hotel. Viktor claps him on the shoulder as the concierge gets the door and wheels in the luggage cart.

“My room is next to yours,” Viktor says. “This was the only room left when we called you, but you don’t mind, do you? I think it’ll help you get into character.”

“Uh, okay?” Yuuri’s pretty sure as long as the hotel room has a bed and hot water, he’ll be fine.

“I’ll come get you for dinner, all right?”

“Okay…”

Yuuri is left alone in front of his hotel room. He sighs. _Time for a shower,_ he thinks, _and then I’ll go figure out where everything is._

He steps into the room and lets the door close behind him.

There are rose petals all over the living room.

Yuuri frowns. Where the hell is the bed? He pokes around the living space, with the enormous windows and the buttery leather couches, and finds a hidden pair of fridges with wine in one and snacks in the other. There’s a room service menu on the desk in the corner; tucked inside is a pink cardboard insert listing ‘romantic specials’.

A dreadful thought occurs to Yuuri.

He goes into the bedroom.

There are rose petals all over the bed, too. There is a basket of condoms and dental dams and miniature lube bottles on the dresser. Yuuri runs a hand over the duvet; it’s silk. He checks the bathroom to find that it’s palatial, in grey and white marble, with a tub that could easily fit three. He imagines soaking in it after a long day at practice and immediately decides not to say anything about the room. _Never mind the rose petals,_ he thinks, _I need this tub._

 

**DAY 1**

“Welcome, welcome!” Chris is waiting at the rink when Yuuri arrives in the morning. He’s still shoving breakfast into his mouth as he arrives; he fell asleep after his shower and never woke up, meaning that he missed dinner (and Viktor).

“Hey,” Yuuri says, around his last mouthful of protein bar.

“You’re going first today. Viktor is getting changed, he’ll teach you the choreography, and then you can start practicing. We’re going to be skating in blocks for the next two weeks, so don’t worry about overcrowding. Oh, and your costume fitting is this afternoon. I designed it myself.” Chris’s phone starts ringing. His ringtone is Toxic. “I have to run. See you later, Yuuri.”

“Bye,” Yuuri says to Chris’s back.

He’s left alone.

Which is fine, because he needs some time to freak out. Viktor is going to teach him choreography? Alone? On the same ice? Yuuri has had this exact fantasy, complete with the sexy program. He pinches himself.

Nope, all this is real. Chris Giacometti wants to pay him to sleep in a honeymoon suite next to Viktor at night and learn skating from him personally by day.

“What the fuck,” Yuuri says.

“Yuuri!”

Viktor shimmers into existence, or so it seems to Yuuri; he’s shiny and clean and wearing the same grey and black outfit he’s wearing in at least three of Yuuri’s posters. He’s holding out a hand.

Yuuri hands him the remnants of his toast dumbly.

Viktor stares at the quarter piece of egg-topped bread in his hand, and then eats it.

“Let’s get started, shall we? I want to have the maximum amount of practice time.” Viktor frowns. “You’re fine with this time, right? I know you prefer to skate at night.”

_How does Viktor know that?_

Viktor takes him to the ice. They put on their skates together; Yuuri laces himself up on autopilot, his mind in a whirl. What if he falls down in front of Viktor, or flubs his jumps, or dies of embarrassment on the spot? He eyes Viktor’s golden blades nervously. They remind him of a guillotine.

“I’ll run through it first once so you can get the idea,” Viktor says, “and then we can decide on a jump composition and go through it section by section.” He plugs his cell phone into what must be the controls for the rink’s sound system. “The piece is called On Love: Eros.”

Yuuri’s heart is pounding in his ears. This is a program Viktor choreographed for him—and it’s a program that Viktor originally meant for himself. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity, something Yuuri would never have dared to ask for in a million years.

Viktor takes his place at center ice, and Yuuri grips the boards as he hits play.

 _Oh, no,_ Yuuri thinks as Viktor flutters his fingertips over his body. _Oh, no. I cannot skate this._ Viktor is doing a step sequence that probably ought to be censored for the sake of his audience. Viktor’s skating blows Chris’s booty-shaking routine out of the water. _There’s so much eros it might impregnate me!_

“Well, what do you—how did you get over there?”

Yuuri jumps. Somehow, he’s made his way onto the ice without realizing, like Odysseus’s sailors lured by the sirens. Come to think of it, Viktor may as well be Circe, holding him captive with his beauty, except instead of turning a man into a pig Viktor is trying to turn a pig into a man. Thank god Yuuri dieted before he came.

“I…”

“What do you think?”

“It’s sexy,” Yuuri says. “I mean. It’s eros-y. That isn’t a word, is it.”

“Words mean nothing!” Viktor is suddenly right there, hand under Yuuri’s chin. “Skating is about what you feel. What does this program remind you of?”

Yuuri shudders, Viktor’s thumb over his lip. Words fail him on every level.

“I…katsudon.”

“What?”

“That’s what eros is to me. Katsudon. With egg. And spring onions.”

There is a silence as Viktor traces Yuuri’s lip with his finger, brow furrowed in confusion. Yuuri prays for death or at least for the rink to eat him alive and remove him from this situation. What is he saying? What is he doing?

“…it’s…unique!”

“I’m sorry!”

“We can work with that. Now, tell me, what jumps can you do?”

 

* * *

 

Only Viktor’s insistent personal invitation gets Yuuri to go out with the other skaters that night. He’s still almost late coming down to the lobby, because he has no idea what to wear. It occurs, belatedly, that he never asked Chris who else would be performing. So he might be surrounded by gold medalists.

He stumbles out of the elevator in his black suit pants and his one tie, hands in his pockets. Maybe everyone will have left without him and he can go to sleep.

“Yuuri! I didn’t know you were part of this!”

Yuuri looks up and immediately smiles—it’s Phichit. “Yeah, Chris asked me…”

“Well, it’s good to see you. How’ve you been? How’s Vicchan?”

“He’s good, he’s in the hotel kennel. I think Vegas is a little loud for him, though.”

“Poor guy. I tried to bring a hamster, but Ciao Ciao said I had to comply with the TSA’s pet regulations.”

They talk about Phichit, who is thinking about relocating to Bangkok if he can talk Celestino into it. They talk about the onsen, which is doing well. They do not talk about how Yuuri fled midway through the GPF and skipped the rest of the season.

“Yuuri!”

Yuuri looks up again and barely has time to brace himself before Viktor’s arm is around him. He squeezes Yuuri hard.

“How are you? Why are you wearing that hideous tie?”

“My mom gave me this tie.”

“Did you do something to her? It’s a tragedy.”

“I—”

“Chris and everyone else are coming down soon. I think we can all fit in the limo.”

“Who else is here?”

“Sara Crispino, and Georgi Popovich.” Viktor makes a face. “And her brother is here, although I don’t understand why.”

“He’s worried you’ll try to fuck his sister,” Phichit says.

Viktor blinks. “…wait, what?”

“I didn’t say it made sense.”

“Wait, is that why he hates me?” Yuuri asks. He has a distinct memory of Michele calling him a ‘depraved pervert’ at some point.

“Probably.”

“But I barely know his sister!”

“Yep.”

They all exchange significant looks as the lobby elevator opens to reveal their three remaining skaters: Chris in leather pants, Sara in eggplant purple, and Georgi with black eyelids. Behind them is Michele, who looks angry and who is wearing the same color as his sister.

“Everyone ready?” Chris asks.

“Sara shouldn’t have to go to a club! She’ll get hit on by hyenas all night!”

“Mickey!”

“Let’s go,” Phichit says loudly.

They all go out to the garage and pile into the limo. Viktor and Chris are trading news on some retired skaters they both know. Michele and Sara are quietly arguing. Georgi is staring morosely out of the window. Phichit shows Yuuri some video of a prospective program element for next season, and they talk about Detroit until the limo pulls up to the curb.

They’re at a nightclub, with an enormous bouncer out front. Yuuri glances down at his outfit and hurriedly loosens his tie.

Chris hands the bouncer something, and she nods and lets them in. Inside, it’s dark; the lighting is blue and pink and flashing; there’s music pounding in the background; worst of all, everyone is dressed way better than Yuuri is. There’s dancing on a floor below, and tables and couches spread around a balcony overhead. Sara lunges down the steps towards the dancefloor, Mickey at her heels. Chris asks Phichit to dance. Georgi vanishes into a dark corner.

Yuuri does not want to be left alone with Viktor, so he heads for the bar.

 _I’ll just have a glass of champagne to relax,_ he thinks. _Or two glasses._

 

* * *

 

Yuuri is having a great time. The most good time. The best.

There’s music. There’s a dance floor. There’s champagne. And Yuuri gets to dance as much as he wants, without anyone trying to help him or anyone suggesting he wear clothes. _Clothes are oppression,_ Yuuri decides as he shimmies out of his pants and tosses them off of the bar. Someone catches them and whistles. _Everyone is so nice,_ Yuuri thinks. He dances down the bar. It’s kind of a mess; there’s money everywhere.

His tie is uncomfortable. Yuuri tugs at it to get it off and he looks up and—

It’s Viktor Nikiforov. Viktor Nikiforov! Yuuri is confused, maybe he’s dreaming, and then he remembers: Viktor is teaching him the sex program. Yuuri loves the sex program. And Viktor. Who looks confused and sad.

Yuuri waves frantically. “Viktor!”

Viktor looks up. _So pretty,_ Yuuri thinks, and he leans forward to get a good look. Viktor is right there, and Yuuri wants to get off the bar, so he jumps.

Midair it occurs to Yuuri that that was maybe a bad idea, but it’s too late: Viktor’s caught him in his strong arms. Which is great.

“Hi,” he says.

Viktor blinks. “Hi.”

“Why are you sad?” Yuuri throws his arms around Viktor’s neck, their foreheads touching. “This is a party! You need to dance.”

“Okay—”

“Come on!”

He drags Viktor out onto the floor, and Viktor is weak, because Yuuri can haul him along as easily as he might Vicchan. Not that Yuuri would drag Vicchan anywhere. Vicchan is a good boy.

“My dog is named Viktor,” Yuuri announces as he tries to arrange Viktor for a tango. “He’s small and cute. You’re cute, too. But not small.”

“Wait, did you name your dog after me?”

“Of course!” Who else was Yuuri going to name his dog after? _Georgi Popovich?_

“…wow.”

And then the DJ starts playing Yuuri’s favorite song. He wants to dance, and because Viktor is the best and smartest of all the figure skaters Yuuri knows, he mimics Yuuri’s movements perfectly. They circle each other on the floor, until Yuuri can’t take it anymore. He pulls Viktor closer, closer, until he’s got his arm around Viktor’s waist and can dip him back over the floor.

Viktor has blue eyes, like the sky or the ocean or blue raspberry lollipops. He’s so close that Yuuri can see his eyelashes, just like that one poster Yuuri has that he used to kiss goodnight when he was a teen. Of course the poster wasn’t real and couldn’t kiss him back.

 _That is a great idea,_ Yuuri thinks, and goes for it.

Is Viktor wearing lip gloss? His mouth is sticky. Yuuri pulls back, with every intention of doing it again, but then—

“Ha! I knew you were a pervert!” Michele is pointing at him. Yuuri wonders what his problem is. Has no one given him any champagne? “Sara, we’re leaving!”

“Mickey, for god’s sake, what does Yuuri kissing Viktor have to do with me?”

“If he’ll kiss Viktor, he’ll definitely want to kiss you, the most beautiful woman in the—”

“Excuse me,” Yuuri says, outraged. He lets go of Viktor reluctantly. How dare Michele Crispino insult him that way? “Viktor is a hundred times prettier than Sara is and—”

“My sister is the prettiest!”

“You guys should settle this with a dance off!” Phichit calls. This is why Phichit is Yuuri’s only skating friend, because he understands Yuuri. Of course they need to have a dance off. Yuuri has to defend Viktor’s honor in person just like he does online.

“Chris, they’re fighting over me,” he hears Viktor hiss in the background.

“Viktor!” Yuuri yells as the music starts to play. Michele is approaching with what he probably thinks is a scary face, but the joke is on him, Yuuri’s already skated with Viktor Nikiforov today and no longer experiences fear when faced with lesser skaters. “If I win this dance off—”

“Yes!”

“I didn’t even ask!”

“I know!”

Well, that’s good enough for Yuuri. Michele tries to do a handstand and falls over.

 _Clearly someone only knows one style of dance,_ Yuuri thinks. _Amateur._

After he wins, and Michele falls over, pulls a groin muscle, and has to be carried off the dance floor, Yuuri looks out for his next opponent. He needs to win all the dance offs, and then Viktor will…something. Yuuri isn’t really sure what, but possibly it will involve more kissing, or Viktor autographing Yuuri’s wallet photos. Yes. He’s doing this. Who else in this club can dance?

“All right, my turn next.” Chris appears. “Eros versus eros.”

Yuuri looks at Chris, who’s lost his clothes. And then at the poles.

“You’re on.”

Phichit brings more champagne, which is good because it tastes great and bad because Yuuri spills half the bottle all over himself. He’s sticky now. Like Viktor’s mouth. The poles are gleaming, and Yuuri hooks his thighs around one and lifts himself up. Ow. He needs to practice more. Why doesn’t he practice more? He’s dancing! He can stand on Chris’s thighs and see the top of Viktor’s head! He can spin and it’s a rush, like falling, like landing.

Yuuri totally wins the dance off. He knows, because Viktor says so, and Viktor must be right. Viktor is the one who wins everything so he must be an expert at it.

“I learned your program,” Yuuri brags. “The whole thing. Not the jumps. But otherwise the whole thing.”

“Yes, I saw the video,” Viktor says. “It was beautiful.”

“You did?” Something about that niggles at Yuuri’s mind, but then Viktor puts his arm around him and Yuuri gets distracted. “I’m strong, too.”

“Are you?”

“I could pick you up.”

Viktor raises his eyebrows. “There is no way you could pick me—”

Yuuri picks him up. He’s not as heavy as he looks. He should eat more. He should come to Japan and eat Yuuri’s mom’s katsudon.

“…I…stand corrected. And I would love to eat katsudon,” Viktor says. “In every sense of the word.”

 

**DAY 2**

Yuuri wakes up with a faint headache.

For a moment he doesn’t know why, and then he realizes the last he remembers is being ushered into a nightclub by Viktor and everything after is just one black nothingness. _Oh, god._ He gropes around until he finds his glasses; first things first, is he in the right hotel room?

Well, the basket of condoms and the rose petals are still there, so yes. He checks his hands, and then the rest of his body: no evidence of spontaneous weddings, no piercings, no tattoos, no suspicious injuries. Maybe he just quietly got drunk and fell asleep at the bar. He looks around the room for any other sign of bad behavior, like a room service tray or Viktor merchandise or a dubiously attractive man named Chad.

(Drunk Yuuri is a dangerous being.)

There’s nothing, except that Yuuri’s only in his boxers, and his clothes are lying folded neatly on the desk, and now that he pays attention, there are some chafing marks on the inside of his thighs. Almost like…

Yuuri buries his face in his hands. Drunk Yuuri would do a lot of things, but not fold his clothes (sober Yuuri won’t even fold his clothes), and he knows only one way to get marks like these. Why did he take those pole dancing classes? There has to be a less humiliating way to get abs.

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and frowns. There’s glitter there. Did he eat something that wasn’t meant to be eaten? Entirely possible.

“This is fine.” Yuuri lies. He looks at the clock, wondering if it’s too late to order himself bacon and oh god, he’s supposed to be at the rink in forty five minutes to practice. He’s going to be fired from this ice show.

Yuuri’s never showered and put on pants so fast, not even that one time after a post-finals party when he woke up in Canada.

“I’m sorry!” he gasps as he sprints into the rink five minutes late. Chris and Viktor are both there, probably deciding how to replace him. “I didn’t—I just—”

“…how are you upright?” Chris asks.

“…what?”

“Yuuri, you’re just in time, I desperately need your help,” Viktor says.

“You…do? I mean. Okay.”

“Can you run through it with him? I have to go get the costumes,” Chris says. Viktor waves him off.

Chris slaps Yuuri on the butt as he leaves, which is not unusual but coupled with his wink makes Yuuri extremely nervous about what happened last night. Should he ask? No, better not to know, he’s too young to die.

“What did you need my help with?”

“It’s my program for the show. I want it to be an ice dance, but I haven’t got a partner.” Viktor grabs both his hands. “But you already learned the program, so can you do it?”

“Skate…with you?”

“Please. You’ll be paid extra,” Viktor adds.

Yuuri would be perfectly willing to pay for the privilege, but he’s not about to turn down money.

“What’s the program?”

“It’s the duet version of my free skate from last year.”

It’s the program Yuuri’s been obsessing about ever since Viktor debuted it. It figures. _Vegas,_ Yuuri thinks, _is a magical place._ Terrifying or not, he can’t say no. (Who told Viktor Yuuri learned his free skate program? Drunk Yuuri? Alcohol was a mistake.)

“Sure,” Yuuri says, in a voice much steadier than how he feels.

“Wonderful. Go ahead and do your practice now, and we can meet tonight to go over it.”

So Yuuri is left at the rink to work on Eros. It’s not as terrible as he thinks it will be. With no one around, he lets himself experiment with it, trying to find a way to perform it that doesn’t feel so fake. He’s grasped the story of the program, the seducer and his innocent victim, but it’s not Yuuri’s style at all. Yuuri can’t play a playboy. He’s never seduced anyone in his life. But he doesn’t want to disappoint the audience, or Viktor, or himself.

This might his last public performance, after all.

By the time his practice time is up, he’s started to get an idea of how he might change the choreography to suit him. He wishes there was more time, but Georgi is there for his practice wearing a burgundy smokey eye, and giving Yuuri a look that suggests he knows all about drunk Yuuri.

That leaves Yuuri with most of the day free, since his practice with Viktor is in the evening and his costume fitting is beforehand. He works out a little bit, and watches television mindlessly in his room, and dodges an invitation to lunch from Phichit because Phichit will definitely tell Yuuri about last night.

However, Sara catches him on his way back from walking Vicchan.

“Yuuri! Hi.”

“Hey.”

“I’m sorry about Mickey last night. He’s even worse than usual once he starts drinking.”

“That’s okay.” Yuuri has no idea what Michele did, so he doesn’t plan to hold a grudge.

“I know it’s bad,” she laughs, “but with him laid up with his injury, I can finally have some peace. You know?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m really glad you’re here. I’ve been following your skating since the Grand Prix Final and it’s been amazing.”

Yuuri hasn’t skated in public since then. He has no idea what she’s talking about. Maybe after the Final she looked him up and watched his old programs? That’s nice of her.

“Thanks.” He guides Vicchan back on to the path, away from a nearby bird. “What’s the theme of your program?”

“Familial love. Mickey helped with the choreography. He might not look it, but he is very good.”

“I know, I’ve seen him.”

“Well, I’d better go. I have a costume fitting.” Sara pats him on the arm. “Welcome back, Yuuri.”

“It’s good to be here,” he says. He’s surprised to find he means it.

 

* * *

 

Yuuri’s costume has no butt.

“Uh,” he says as it’s fitted. He cranes his head to get a look at his backside in the mirror. The costume is almost right—dark blue, not too ostentatious, a little sparkle—but then when he turns around…there’s no butt. The back of his pants are made of mesh, and not a thick mesh either.

“Mr. Giacometti designed it himself.”

“And it’s…finished?”

“Naturally. We do pride ourselves on high quality work.”

Yuuri wonders if he can arrange for this costume to accidentally be eaten by his dog or something. He’ll skate in his work out clothes if he has to. Even a buttless costume cannot make Yuuri sexy. Are all of them wearing buttless costumes? Because that seems like a terrible idea.

Is Viktor wearing a buttless costume? Yuuri could get behind that. Metaphorically.

God, what if he falls down while skating and it rips and he moons the audience and then has to become a hermit in Canada? Yuuri doesn’t like maple syrup or moose. He has to do something. Something drastic.

Yuuri mumbles an excuse about needing to pee and ducks into the nearest bathroom. He clutches at the sink with one hand as he dials his phone with the other. When Viktor gave his phone number, Yuuri had assumed he would never need it.

“Nikiforov.”

“Viktor?”

“Yuuri!”

“Could you do me a favor?”

“Of course. Anything.”

Yuuri’s face heats. “Um…you said you brought some old costumes…”

“Did he actually go with the exposed ass?”

“There’s like…fishnet.”

“Come by around six, I’ll lend you something.”

It’s only four, so Yuuri goes back to the hotel, has an early dinner, and reads the news from Japan until it’s five forty five. Then he steels himself and walks down the hall to Viktor’s room. He starts to knock, and hesitates, and then knocks too hard and hurts himself.

Viktor opens the door in a bathrobe and apparently nothing else.

“Sorry,” he says as he turns around. Yuuri follows him into the room in a haze. “I wasn’t expecting you quite yet.”

“I didn’t want to be late.”

“Well, it doesn’t matter! Here’s what I have.”

Viktor gesture to his bed, where he’s laid out a veritable smorgasbord of his past costumes. There’s ones from as far back as Viktor’s Juniors days. There’s red and black and white and blue, subtle and flashy, masculine and feminine. Yuuri has seen them all in action, but it’s another thing entirely to actually touch them. He’s half afraid he’ll tear one as he sorts through, looking for something that will both fit him and scream ‘eros’.

 _Sexy,_ Yuuri thinks. _What is hot? Obviously on Viktor everything is._ He’s been trying out a more feminine version of the program; maybe something ruffled, or really sparkly?

“Oh.” In his hands is the one. Black, crystal studded, half a skirt, inspired by bondage. Yuuri holds it up to the light and tries to imagine himself in it.

He can’t, but he wants to.

“Can I borrow this?”

“I’ll have it delivered to the tailor for alterations today.”

“Thanks. I’m not really into the fishnet.”

“I’m not sure anyone is.” Viktor removes a garment bag from his closet and lays it out on the bed gingerly. He unzips it slowly. “This is for our ice dance.”

It’s a blue version of Viktor’s costume from last season. Yuuri fingers the gold braid looped over the shoulder and wonders if he’s having some kind of extended lucid dream. Viktor is here, and Yuuri’s going to wear his clothes and ice dance with him, and everyone seems excited to see him skate, and he’s in Vegas.

“Do you like it?”

“I like you. It.” Yuuri runs a hand through his hair, wondering why the fuck he is like this. “It’s…it’s beautiful.” He tries to imagine himself with Viktor in this costume. The contrast between them will be stark, and the smart thing to do would be to run away, but Yuuri wants it so badly. This is almost better than competing against Viktor. This is Viktor inviting Yuuri into his world.

“You know, I was originally just going to perform a version of my free skate by myself,” Viktor says. “No matter how much I tried, I couldn’t come up with anything better. But being here with all these skaters, watching you skate, choreographing these different programs, being with you last night…it’s inspired me. I want to run out and start doing next season’s programs right now.”

 _Me?_ Yuuri thinks. _He was inspired by me? Okay, seriously, what the fuck happened last night?_

“You really are the perfect Eros,” Viktor says. “Go get your skates. It’s almost time for my practice block at the rink, and you’re going to have to learn all the choreography quickly. You’re not tired, are you?”

“No!”

“Excellent! I’ll meet you downstairs.”

Yuuri gives Viktor’s bathrobe-clad body one last longing look, because he’s been trying very hard to ignore it but Viktor is, frankly, godlike. Then he sprints back to his room, snatches his skate bag, and rushes down to the lobby. Celestino taught them some ice dancing, being an ice dancer himself, but other than occasionally lifting Phichit in practice Yuuri hasn’t practice it in ages.

He needs all the help he can get.

 _He picked me,_ Yuuri thinks. _All of these skaters, and Viktor asked me to perform with him. I’ve got to impress him somehow, just in case I never—_

 

* * *

 

“Agh!” Yuuri yelps in pain as he lands, his hands scraping against the ice, his legs on top of Viktor’s body. Viktor hisses in pain as he’s knocked to the ground. His hands are still at Yuuri’s waist, and he lifts Yuuri off him with the same ease he used to lift Yuuri during their skate and sets him aside.

Yuuri slumps on the ice. He’s a mess.

“Sorry…”

“I thought you had done this before.”

“I have, I just…” _…am terrified of you,_ Yuuri finishes internally. _And your body. And your face. And your skating. And your everything._ “I’ll try harder.”

“Let’s try it the other way?”

“Sure.”

Viktor fastforwards through the music; Yuuri’s lifts are at the end, since he’s got more stamina. They work through the choreography, Yuuri too stiff and horribly aware of it, Viktor’s brow furrowed in confusion. There’s Yuuri’s cue. He catches Viktor firmly around the waist and lifts.

For a brief moment, it’s perfect—Viktor is heavy, does he have any body fat? Is he just rippling muscle and hair?—and then Yuuri’s grip slips.

He has a split-second view of Viktor’s expression before they both go crashing down. Viktor lands on top of him. His chin is digging into Yuuri’s sternum.

“Are you okay?”

“Wow,” Viktor says. “That was probably the worst lift I’ve ever seen.”

“I’m sorry!”

“Have I become too heavy?”

“No! I can do it.”

“Can you?” Viktor gets up and offers Yuuri a hand. Yuuri accepts it, more out of fear of offending Viktor again then anything else. He feels wobbly on his skates, like he’s a kid again, taking his first tentative glide across the ice.

A performance with Viktor. An intimate performance, like they’re lovers, where Yuuri has to skate Viktor’s program right there, with Viktor next to him, the contrast between them clear. It’s a dream and a nightmare all at once. If Yuuri can’t do it in practice, there is no way he’ll do it during the show.

“Run through it for by yourself for me,” Viktor says, finally. “I’ll watch.”

“Okay…”

Yuuri closes his eyes for a moment as the music starts, and imagines himself back in Hasetsu. He’s alone at Ice Castle in the morning; the dawn sunlight is coming down through the windows. _Stammi Vicino_ is playing in his ear buds. It’s just him, and he can fall as much as he wants.

There’s the first quad. Yuuri lands it cleanly.

The second singer joins the first, and Yuuri turns to meet a phantom Viktor in the center of the ice. The idea of Viktor is always with Yuuri when he skates, a ghost in his peripheral vision, enticing him and pushing him by turns. Yuuri lets himself imagine it. What if he could skate this perfectly with Viktor? What if they were dancing together, and Yuuri didn’t feel like he was dying? What if…

The music stops.

He’s done, without even noticing.

“That was excellent!” Viktor is clapping. “Just like you did it in the videos. Perfect.”

The bottom drops out of Yuuri’s stomach. “…what videos?”

“The ones you’ve been posting of yourself skating! I especially like your rendition of my Lilac Fairy program.”

“I haven’t…posted any videos,” Yuuri says slowly.

Viktor blinks at him, then picks up his phone off the boards and starts tapping the screen. He passes it to Yuuri, the YouTube app open. It’s the Nishigori triplet’s channel; Yuuri recognizes the handle. And their entire channel is videos of him. There must be twenty or thirty of them. Yuuri skating Viktor’s best hits, redoing his own programs and exhibition skates, doing figures and jumps to music that’s only in his head. The triplets have added the music to some of the videos, since Yuuri often skates without it.

Yuuri almost clicks through to the comments before his sense of self-preservation asserts itself. Some of these videos have hundreds of thousands of hits.

“Has everyone seen these? Everyone’s seen me—”

“Of course they have, you’re so talented,” Viktor says. “There’s been speculation on whether you were retiring, but you haven’t done any press. You’re not retiring, are you? The show is going to do well, you should be able to afford to go on.”

Viktor saw Yuuri’s rendition of _Stammi Vicino,_ the one he did for Yuuko, the one where he downgraded the jumps, the one that made him remember he loved skating. He swallows. He supposed he should be flattered Viktor thought it was good enough to incorporate Yuuri into his performance, but all Yuuri feels is vaguely nauseated. The idea of the audience judging him based on these private skates, and expecting the same level of vulnerability for them, it makes him sick.

“How could they post them without asking me?”

“Why shouldn’t they post them? They’re excellent.”

“I didn’t want anyone to see them.”

“Why?” Viktor asks again. “I don’t understand why you’re upset. Those videos are—”

“Please stop talking.”

To his credit, Viktor falls silent. He says nothing as Yuuri thrusts Viktor’s phone back at him and steps off the ice. Knees wobbling, Yuuri sits down heavily on the nearest bench and buried his face in his hands. He’s shaking. He’s horribly aware of Viktor right there, but it’s too late for composure. The faint hum of the rink lights is too loud, Yuuri’s heart is pounding painfully, hot tears are leaking from his eyes, he can’t breathe. He’s dizzy. _I wish I could disappear,_ Yuuri thinks, _I wish I could just sink into the floor and never have to come out._

Eventually it passes.

Eventually Yuuri stops sweating and crying and feeling like his internal organs are trying to crawl out of his mouth.

And when he looks up, Viktor is still there, sitting wide-eyed on the bench next to him.

Somehow, Yuuri had assumed Viktor would leave. There’s no reason for him to hang around watching Yuuri freak out.

“If you want to drop out, Chris and I can arrange for that.”

“I don’t want to drop out! I want to be able to do it without humiliating myself. I want to get through a season without disappointing myself. I want to beat you.” Yuuri claps his hands over his mouth—he didn’t mean to say that out loud. He didn’t even mean to _think_ it.

“Hmm.”

“I’m cutting into your practice time,” Yuuri says hurriedly. “I should go.”

“I’m not really sure why you’re so upset,” Viktor says. “But from what I’ve seen, you’re capable of all those things. I think so. And everyone else who saw those videos thinks so too.”

“But—”

“We have a couple minutes left. Run through it again with me.”

“…okay.”

 

**DAY 8**

“So, how is everyone doing?” Chris asks.

They’re all at lunch together. Well, sort of: they’ve ordered pizza and are holed up in Yuuri’s hotel room. Yuuri’s not sure why his room was the one picked—possibly because it’s the largest—but he wishes he’d cleaned up a little more. There are clothes spilling out of his bag. His boxers are lying on the dresser in a heap.

“Great,” Sara says.

“Awesome,” Phichit says.

“Terrible,” Georgi says. “Anya—”

“I’m doing great,” Viktor says, talking over him. “And Yuuri is, too!”

“I am?” Yuuri’s been working hard, it’s true, but he’s frankly unsatisfied with his improvement. The only thing he’s really happy about is not dropping Viktor anymore. (Also not having any more panic attacks.)

“Your katsudon is getting sexier every day.”

“…thanks?”

“I’m doing well,” Chris says. He smirks at Viktor, who elbows him. “So if there aren’t any problems, let’s go ahead and eat.”

Yuuri shoves his pizza into his face. He’s been dieting on and off since the GPF, mostly because he wanted to be able to skate better. And of course for the ice show as well. Yuuri misses pizza the way he misses his sister. (And he misses katsudon the way he misses his mother.) It’s delicious, and it distracts him from the fact that Viktor is sitting on the arm of his chair and bragging about his performance to Sara and Michele.

Michele looks murderous, but he doesn’t say anything, probably because his sister keeps elbowing him.

“And he’s so strong,” Viktor is saying.

Yuuri would like to elbow Viktor in the ribs, but one, that’s mean, and two, Viktor has so many core muscles that Yuuri’s not sure he would feel it.

“How is your program going?” he asks.

“I’m trying to push myself,” Sara replies. “I haven’t been in a lot of ice shows, so I’m looking forward to this. You should come by during my practice time and see for yourself!”

“Sure, I’d like that.”

“Hey, Yuuri, are you actually going to lift Viktor during your program?” Phichit asks. “And can I get it on video? I’m almost at five million followers on Instagram.”

“Stop using me to get followers!”

“Are you kidding, like a quarter of my followers only started following me because you don’t use your social media. Now they’re hooked to hamsters and my fine self, but still.”

“Oh, that’s an idea,” Viktor says. He takes out his phone and snaps a picture. It takes Yuuri a moment to realize that he just took a selfie of them both, and that in it Yuuri has a mouthful of pizza and Viktor looks like a movie star.

“Don’t post—”

“Too late! I’ll put it on the ice show’s official twitter.”

“Tag it #victuuri,” Phichit says.

“What does that mean?” Yuuri asks.

Everyone ignores him.

“I wish I could tag my posts Georanaya,” Georgi says, “but she left me—”

“Why don’t we tag our posts Mickisara?”

“Because that’s weird, Mickey! Besides, you’re not in the show!”

Yuuri slaps Phichit’s arm. “Are people shipping us?”

“I mean, the video from the club was pretty gay. People had their phones out, it was on Twitter. You should see the fanfics—”

“What video?”

“Of you poledancing!” Viktor says. “And stripping! And hugging me!”

 _Is this entire trip just going to be me being exposed on YouTube,_ Yuuri thinks. _Is that it? I thought what happened in Vegas stayed in Vegas!_

To Yuuri’s relief, Chris and Viktor have to go meet with the rink to nail down some last minute planning for the show, and the other skaters disperse. Sara and Michele go for their scheduled practice time, Georgi says he has to make a phone call, and that leaves Yuuri and Phichit together.

“Are you coming back?”

Yuuri, halfway through putting on his mask to avoid being recognized on the street, blinks.

“Yeah, I’m just going out to walk Vicchan.”

Phichit rolls his eyes. “Yuuri, are you seriously retiring?”

Yuuri swallows.

The truth is, he has no idea. Ever since the disastrous GPF, Yuuri has been agonizing over what to do. He’s been skating constantly, trying to reclaim his love of the ice, but the idea of having to perform for an audience terrifies him. Hasetsu is safe: isolated, filled with Yuuri’s loved ones. Coming back would be moving again. It would mean having to explain himself to people. It would mean having to appear in front of the world again.

In hindsight, Yuuri knows, he should have gone back for Nationals. If he had gotten it over then, it would have been fine. But the longer he’s away, the louder the voice that tells him he was never meant for competition grows. Coming to this ice show had been a way of saying goodbye.

But now Viktor is here.

_I think so. And everyone else who saw those videos thinks so too._

(A part of Yuuri still wants to win.)

“I don’t…know yet.”

“Ciao Ciao would take you back on,” Phichit says. “Your room is still empty. The landlord said you could get a dog.”

“Phichit—”

“You could do it if you wanted.”

“I know.” Yuuri runs a hand through his hair. “I’m thinking about it, I promise.”

Vicchan is delighted to be walked, and Yuuri wanders for longer than usual, enjoying his company. It’s strange, thinking he went five years without his dog in Detroit. Now Yuuri misses him if he’s late for their walk. At least Vicchan has Makkachin to keep him company. The woman who runs the in-house kennel says that the two of them have become friends.

Once he can’t delay his return any longer, he drags himself back to the hotel. Vicchan runs to Makkachin as soon as he’s dropped off, and Yuuri stays to watch him play for a few minutes, smiling, before he rushes upstairs to get changed for his and Viktor’s practice.

Yuuri’s solo practices are getting better, but there’s still something missing. Yuuri’s practices with Viktor are embarrassing at best, and worthless at their worst. It’s not even that Yuuri can’t do it, because he’s physically capable of all the movements. It’s that as soon as he’s with Viktor on the ice, he gets stuck in the vicious, anxious-ridden parts of his brain, and crashes and burns.

(He wonders what happened in those videos from the club. He hugged Viktor? It figures it would only happen when Yuuri couldn’t remember it. But then again, considering the way Yuuri skates when Viktor is touching him, maybe only alcohol can give Yuuri enough chill to enjoy it.)

Once Yuuri filled his water bottle and shoved three protein bars and a box of tissues in his skate bag, he heads over to the rink.

Viktor is already there. He’s stating, but nothing Yuuri recognizes.

Could it be…something new? Yuuri should interrupt, but the fanboy part of him wins, and Yuuri stands at the boards, watching Viktor skate something delicate and complicated, his expression soft. Yuuri wonders what Viktor thinks about when he skates, what he feels, if he’s exposing himself.

When Viktor is done, hands raised over his head, he catches sight of Yuuri and beams.

“There you are! Come on, let’s get started.”

At least Yuuri is less terrified of Viktor now. It turns out that Viktor’s idea of skating advice is ‘make it whoosh more’, which is both useless and hilarious. Yuuri’s been trying to hold onto that thought, whenever he gets overwhelmed: Viktor says ‘whoosh’ and made conversation with a dog for ninety minutes. It’s not doing much for his skating, and Yuuri’s stomach does something swooping whenever he looks at Viktor, but now when Yuuri talks, his words make sense.

They begin.

Yuuri can’t get synchronized. He can match the music, when he’s on his own; it’s trying to meet Viktor that throws him off. The portions of his skate where he’s alone are pretty, but then he turns into Viktor’s arms and nearly falls over. Viktor catches him. Viktor’s caught him so many times that it’s probably muscle memory for him.

“This isn’t working.”

“Maybe if I do it by myself again…”

“No, that’s no good. You’re thinking about this too much.”

“I’m thinking about the program.”

Viktor looks at him. “Are you really?”

“…mostly.”

“Do you trust me, Yuuri?”

“Yes?”

“You don’t sound like you trust me.”

Yuuri straightens up. “I trust you!”

Viktor’s arm is still loosely around him, and now he pulls Yuuri in, until they’re so close their breath is mingling. Yuuri can feel his face heating, but his anxiety is no match for the way Viktor smells, the way his body feels against Yuuri’s where they’re touching.

“You do well on your own,” Viktor says, “but something about me makes you nervous.”

“I don’t like to be watched,” Yuuri mutters.

Viktor stays quiet for what feels like a long time, his hand at Yuuri’s waist.

“Don’t think so much about yourself,” he says finally. “Do it, and just focus on making sure I don’t make any mistakes.”

“Viktor—”

“You know, you still haven’t told me what I owe you.”

“Owe me?”

“For the dance off. You did win.”

“I—”

“If you can skate flawlessly today, you can decide tonight.”

“Wha,” Yuuri says as Viktor touches his cheek. What the fuck did he do when he was drunk? He’s going to have to actually look at the videos now because clearly it was wild.

“Watch me,” Viktor says firmly. He sets up the music again while Yuuri tries to get a handle on his advice. As Viktor takes his starting pose on the other side of the rink, he tries it. Viktor is blurred, Yuuri’s not wearing his glasses, but he watches him anyway. “Again!”

 

**DAY 13**

_What would happen if I didn’t retire?_

 

* * *

 

“Yuuri, do you know what time it is?” Minako scowls at him. He’s half-surprised she even took his video call at this time, but he’s desperate. Everyone keeps asking him what his plans are. Yuuri made the mistake of looking at social media and he’s widely considered to be making a comeback. Someone snapped a picture of him and Viktor drinking water at the rink, and now it’s circulating with the caption “the once and the future champions”.

Yuuri still has no idea how to fix the ice dance with Viktor. But he has solved the problem of the Eros program, and has realized he can’t fix it on his own.

“I need you to teach me how to move like a woman.”

“You need me to _what?”_

“I don’t know how to be a playboy! I have to be the seduced woman instead.”

“Yuuri, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but isn’t it kind of early to be drinking over there?”

“Minako-sensei, please! Viktor is going to watch me perform his program! I can’t fuck it up!”

“Wait, what?” Minako blurs onscreen as she jumps to her feet. “Why didn’t you say so! Get warmed up, I’ll turn you into the belle of the ball right now!”

 

* * *

 

 **yuuri:** do u have room for another student

 **coach ciao ciao:** I’d be happy to have you as a student again. Email me what you have in mind and we’ll get it sorted out.

 **yuuri:** are u sure

 **coach ciao ciao:** I know what you’re capable of. I saw your videos. Yes.

 

* * *

 

“You seem different today,” Viktor says. He passes Yuuri his water when Yuuri’s bottle runs dry, and Yuuri drinks from it without thinking. Viktor pushes a fallen strand of hair out of Yuuri’s face.

Yuuri shrugs. “I guess.”

After the GPF, Yuuri’s dream of skating on the same ice as Viktor was tainted. The memory of the short program was irrevocably linked with Vicchan’s brush with death, with the agonizing silence of the plane ride back to Japan, to the way people looked at Yuuri with pity in their eyes. He’s been trying to purify his love ever since, skating endlessly to reclaim the joy he’d felt as a child.

_What will happen if I retire?_

He could keep doing shows like this. He could teach skating at the rink. He could choreograph. He could coach. He could keep posting videos of himself. He wouldn’t have to leave the ice at all. He would just have to give up competing, and Yuuri wasn’t even good at competing. Surely that would be best. Surely that would be easiest.

“One more time?” Viktor asks. He holds out a hand.

Yuuri takes it. “Sure.”

Far away, at first, and then closer, and then closer, until Yuuri reaches out and catches Viktor’s hands. He imagines himself as an extension of Viktor, or maybe Viktor is an extension of him. He follows Viktor so closely that he forgets entirely about himself. Yuuri’s never thought of himself as trusting. It’s only now, Viktor’s strength holding him up in the air, that he realizes that he can rely on Viktor—that he’s relied on his family this whole time—that Minako woke up to help him skate like a seductress—that everyone is trying to push him up as he climbs.

 _What will happen if I don’t retire,_ Yuuri wonders as Viktor dips him back and the final notes of _Stammi Vicino_ play. _If I could skate against Viktor again, would it feel like this?_

 

**DAY 14**

After the first show is over, everyone flops down on the floor of Yuuri’s hotel room again. Another round of pizza is ordered, Viktor gives the exhausted pizza delivery woman a three figure tip and his autograph, and Yuuri lies down on the carpet, too tired to care that his pajama pants have holes in them.

“God,” Phichit says. “That was great.” He flicks through Twitter on his phone. “Seems like people enjoyed it.”

“I’m dying,” Georgi says. “Ow.” He fell during his performance, but being Georgi, he’d managed to turn it into part of the performance by sobbing on his knees for a few seconds. Yuuri isn’t sure if that’s impressive or sad. Maybe both.

“Do we want to watch?” Chris asks. He holds up a thumb drive. “I snagged the footage.”

“Oo, let’s,” Sara agrees.

They hook up the thumb drive to the flatscreen, and pass around the boxes of pizza. Yuuri selects three slices laden with pineapple and ham and begins shoving them methodically into his face. Besides him, Viktor is using a plastic fork and knife to cut up his.

“What are you doing?”

“I can’t get grease on my face,” Viktor says.

Yuuri laughs as he inhales his second slice.

Chris skips the first couple minutes of the video, past the opening announcements, until he gets to the lights going down for the first performance. It’s Yuuri, because that’s always his shitty luck.

He’s barely recognizable to himself, Viktor’s costume fitting to him like a second skin, body moving with a sensuality that Yuuri didn’t know he could express. His memories of the performance are blurry. Yuuri remembers that he landed his triple axel, that he forgot about the audience because he was thinking about Viktor’s thighs, that his whole body seemed to weight less than usual. Maybe it’s because there was less pressure than at a competition.

Next is Phichit, then Georgi, then Sara. Phichit and Sara are both excellent, Georgi surprisingly moving. Chris is the penultimate skater, and his program is kind of scary. (He is wearing a costume with a transparent booty.)

“We’re up,” Viktor whispers. He squeezes Yuuri’s shoulder.

_Sento una voce che piange lontano_

_Anche tu, sei stato forse abbandonato?_

Yuuri doesn’t look at himself at first. He watches Viktor, on the opposite side of the rink from Yuuri, as he skates, slowly, meanderingly towards the center. The spotlight that follows him is tinted pink, and the effect is otherworldly, like Viktor’s not quite real. And when he turns to catch Yuuri’s hand, and Yuuri follows him, the light turning purple, it becomes more like a dream than anything else—something strange, and illogical, and wonderful.

 _That can’t be me,_ Yuuri thinks, but the memory of Viktor’s hand in his is as sharp as glass.

“We look good together,” Yuuri mumbles. He doesn’t mean for Viktor to hear, but Viktor does. He slides an arm over Yuuri’s shoulder and leans in.

“We do, don’t we?”

Once the recording is over, the other skaters disperse. Sara is the first to go, yawning, and then Georgi says something about having to take off his eyeshadow and leaves. Chris claps Viktor on the back and tells him something that makes him blush. Phichit nudges Yuuri as he gets up to go.

“Phichit.”

“Mm?”

Yuuri lowers his voice. “You still need a roommate in Detroit?”

“Yes!” Phichit claps a hand over his mouth when Chris and Viktor both look up. “I’ll take down the hamster palace. Welcome back.”

“You’ll take down the _what?”_

But Phichit is gone, following Chris out and asking if he can pick Chris’s brain about ice show management. That leaves Viktor, slumped back against the couch, watching Yuuri through lowered lashes. Yuuri sits down beside him. He musters up his courage, summoning up the spectre of Drunk Yuuri, and then grabs Viktor’s hand where it’s sitting on his thigh.

Unfortunately, because Yuuri is a trainwreck, he grabs a little too hard and comes within a hair’s breadth of groping Viktor’s dick.

“…I’m tired,” Viktor says.

“That was an accident, oh my god,” Yuuri yelps. He covers his face with his hands. “I just wanted to talk to you.”

Viktor smiles and resettles their clasped hands between them. “Okay.”

“I’m not retiring,” Yuuri blurts out. “I want to skate with you again. Against you. Since I didn’t have the chance at the Grand Prix Final last season.”

“Excellent!”

“I’m tiring of skating alone just to avoid being afraid, so…” Yuuri shrugs. “If it’s not working, I figured I should change what I’m doing.”

“You’re right,” Viktor says softly. “If something isn’t making you happy, you can stop.”

“You said you still owed me a favor, so I was wondering if I,” Yuuri begins. He doesn’t get the rest of the sentence out, because Viktor is kissing him.

There’s not a lot of coherent thought in the next few minutes, just the heat of Viktor’s body over his, the hand he has cradling Yuuri’s head, the way the lip balm he applied after they ate tastes. Yuuri lies back against the carpet, fingers dug into the back of Viktor’s shirt. It’s like a circuit in Yuuri that was open has been closed. If Viktor had kissed him two weeks ago, Yuuri would have never been able to believe it, but in this moment, it feels like something that’s happened before.

“Sorry,” Viktor says, finally, when they break apart. “I couldn’t wait any longer. Do you want to go on a date?”

“A date?”

“Or ten dates. Or a double date with our dogs.”

“Sure. I…” Yuuri picks through the wreckage of his thoughts. “I want to use Eros for my short program next season.”

“I’ll have to redo the whole thing, it needs to be more difficult.”

“We could talk about it on our double date with our dogs.”

“This is going to be a great season,” Viktor says. He kisses Yuuri some more.

Yuuri closes his eyes, can almost taste gold. _Yeah,_ he thinks, dragging Viktor down against him. It’s a good thing the honeymoon suite has such thick carpet. _It is._

**Author's Note:**

> comments are much appreciated!


End file.
